


Work From Home

by intravenusann



Series: Richie Tozier's Foot Fetish [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Clothed Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Sandwiches, Shorts (Clothing), Up Skirt, Work From Home, well... Up Shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intravenusann/pseuds/intravenusann
Summary: Eddie wears a pair of his running shorts, because no one can see below his ribs when he’s sitting in the home office.Well, no one except Richie, who is horizontal on the ultrasuede sectional.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Richie Tozier's Foot Fetish [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677526
Comments: 8
Kudos: 196





	Work From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I did procrastinate on writing porn by writing other, different porn. Maybe I did that!

It’s the middle of August. In addition to his occasional flex day, the foundation offers Eddie the option to work from home to reduce carbon emissions from commuting. He takes it, even knowing that staying in his apartment with Richie means they’re both trying to work in a 3b2ba plus balcony. Only one of the b’s has been converted into an office. The other is technically a guest room because half of their friends don’t live in California.

Eddie keeps the air conditioner set to a sweltering 78 degrees, because his lower-middle-class upbringing argues with Richie’s upper-middle-class upbringing every month over the utilities. Also, every time he turns the thermostat down, he thinks about mucus membranes drying out and moisture in ducts growing black mold. 

Instead, he slips on a nylon-spandex “cooling” undershirt beneath his shirt and tie. And he wears a pair of his running shorts, because no one can see below his ribs when he’s sitting in the home office.

Well, no one except Richie, who is horizontal on the ultrasuede sectional with his laptop scorching his nipples off and muttering about hostess products and semen jokes to himself because that’s his “creative process.” That means Richie’s eyes are at thigh level (or Eddie’s thighs are at eye level?) every time Eddie passes through the living room to get a glass of water from the Brita pitcher.

The second time this happens that particular Thursday, Richie kind of lolls his head over the edge of the couch cushion on instinct, like a flower turning toward the sun or some shit. Only, it’s a hopelessly romantic horn dog trying to catch a glimpse of of his boyfriend’s dick. He’s hopeful.

He catches many glimpses of the little patch of sweat between Eddie’s shoulders that curves along the edge of the collar of his undershirt as Eddie walks back through the open door of their home office. There, Eddie talks on his laptop’s built-in webcam about improving funding efficiency with NGOs in the shadow of Richie’s framed poster for “Who Framed Roger Rabbit.”

The next time Eddie passes through, Richie watches the way the tail of his shirt almost meets the hem of his shorts because — and Richie starts humming — who likes short-shorts? Eddie likes short-shorts!

Actually Richie likes short-shorts, too. But that’s got the same cadence and he’s only humming. 

Eventually, Eddie saunters up to him while he’s got his head hanging off the sectional and one leg thrown up over the back of it so as to gently caress the wallpaper with his toes.

“I’m taking a break for lunch,” Eddie says. “Do you feel like eating?” 

With Eddie standing this close, Richie can see up his shorts. Oh, there were hints previously. All those trips to the kitchen and back, Richie saw — or thought he saw — things. The shaded length of Eddie’s upper thigh, the shadow of Eddie’s dark curls, thick around the groin and the inside of his upper thighs, a glimpse maybe of something more.

But now, Richie is making direct eye contact with Eddie’s balls, which hang low from heat, the dark hair pressed to the skin with just a little sweat, the delicate skin sticking a little to his thigh and then peeling away when Eddie shifts his weight. 

Ten seconds ago, Richie would have said he kind of wanted a burrito. 

Currently, there is only one thing he wants in his mouth. 

So he says this. Of course. He says, “I mean earlier I wanted a burrito, but now I just wanna swallow your nuts.” 

And Eddie sputters. He laughs like he doesn’t want to be laughing and Richie is very aware, now, of how his cock moves when he laughs.

“I’m seriously hungry, Rich! I’ve been in fucking webcam meetings for four hours because no one knows how to write a fucking email. And we have to talk about the progress on the Gates application at two!”

Richie spares a glance up at Eddie’s face just to see him flushed, but he really doesn’t want to miss the way Eddie’s soft cock moves a little on its own. Even when he’s not laughing. He wants to feel it do that little side shift from Eddie’s flexing pelvic muscles or whatever in his hand. Richie wants the rosy, dry head of it in his mouth; let him feel the pulse of it hardening on his tongue.

“I’m going to make a sandwich,” Eddie says, and stalks away into the kitchen. He takes all the ingredients out of the refrigerator. He pours himself another glass of water and chugs it thinking about Richie’s dark eyes looking at him — but not at his face. Richie’s smile hung upside down because he’s got terrible posture when he writes. 

Eddie pulls the soft, multi-grain rustic bread out of the bread box and toasts two slices. He cuts open an avocado and scrapes out the creamy, green inside with a spoon, spreading it over one piece of bread. He washes the knife for thirty seconds, then dries it with a cloth. He slices a hard-boiled egg and arranges the slices on top of the avocado. Then he adds some pieces of kimchi, a bit of leftover carrot slaw, a handful of bean sprouts, a few pieces of arugula. He drapes a slice of gruyere over that. The final touch is a dash of hot sauce, vinegary and sweet.

He takes his first bite in the kitchen, then carries his plate out to the sectional. Richie has put his laptop on the coffee table, closed.

He creeps up the cushions like the world’s biggest inchworm and rests his cheek on Eddie’s thigh.

“I love you,” Richie says.

“I love you, too,” Eddie says, taking the second bite out of his sandwich. It’s just a little too bit of his mouth and he has to hold the plate at the same time, because it keeps dripping bean sprouts and bits of carrot.

Richie turns and puts his chin on Eddie’s thigh. His hand goes to the hem of Eddie’s shorts.

“Hey, can I?” Richie asks.

“I mean,” Eddie says, “you already told me what you want for lunch.”

Richie snorts. His throat vibrates against Eddie’s leg. His laughter shakes the whole couch.

“You’d seriously let me?” Richie asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I’m not at work when I’m on my lunch break. This is… personal time.”

“Lemme get real personal with you, then,” Richie says, and he slides his hand up under Eddie’s shorts to palm his slightly sweaty balls.

Eddie eats two more bites of his sandwich, but mostly he’s watching Richie, the top of his head and the movement of his hand under the fabric.

Eddie is half-mast when Richie tugs the hem of his shorts up and pushes the seam to the side so he can put his nose between the base of Eddie’s dick and his testicles. 

“Think I just snorted one of your pubes,” Richie says. “Totally worth it.”

Eddie laughs. His mouth is full of sandwich. Speaking around a mouthful of whole grain and hot sauce, he asks him if Richie’s having a nice time. 

“I want to bottle your ball sweat and use it as aftershave,” Richie says, still snuffling around with his nose in Eddie’s crotch.

Eddie nearly aspirates a bean sprout.

Richie starts kissing Eddie’s balls all over, very softly, while he strokes his half-hard dick. Then he drags himself up the couch a little and leans on his elbow. Richie puts the head of Eddie’s dick in his mouth. His open hand rolls Eddie’s testicles around like a street magician with a glass Fushigi ball. 

Eddie gets harder in Richie’s mouth, making him hold his jaw wider. His mouth fills gradually. At the start, Richie can easily fit Eddie’s whole dick in his mouth. It feels like he’s just swallowing around the tip against his soft palate. But that moment goes by fast. Richie gets a brief moment of being able to fully press his nose so deep into Eddie’s pubes that he could be doing the porn star thing and licking Eddie’s balls at the same time. But he doesn’t. 

He’ll still get around to licking Eddie’s balls for sure, he thinks. And he would tell Eddie that, but his mouth is very busy.

Eddie’s is busy, too. It makes him unusually quiet. He gets hard much slower than usual. He’s mostly making chewing noises and not telling Richie about how his dick is so deep in Richie’s throat that he can feel his vocal chords. 

Richie has to make a little more of an effort, is what that means. 

And Eddie is also making an effort, but it’s to eat his lunch without choking while Richie gags himself on his dick. 

There’s so much risk for asphyxiation going on during this lunch hour

Richie takes his sweet time, stroking the crease of Eddie’s groin and thigh with his thumb. He reaches behind Eddie’s balls to trace the little seam of his perineum almost down to his hole — but not quite. He can just feel the thicker, darker hair around the edge of it. His thumb touches the curve of Eddie’s one firmly toned glute. Even when he’s sitting on it, his ass feels so solid. Then, Richie walks his fingers back up the ladder of Eddie’s gooch to his heavy balls. 

All Richie’s really doing is testing how well Eddie can hold himself still. The answer: Not very well! 

Eddie squirms on the couch cushion. He kicks lightly at the coffee table. 

“Shit,” he says, and tries not to drop his plate on Richie’s head or thrust directly against Richie’s uvula. But he definitely still feels Richie’s throat close up a few times, hears him gag. 

Not that Richie stops.

He just opens his mouth a little more, lets his spit drip down the shaft of Eddie’s dick and down into his pubic hair. His fingers get wet with it. He rubs his spit into the soft, loose skin of Eddie’s sack.

It’s not a race, Richie thinks, but also it kind of is. 

Richie doesn’t want Eddie to finish in his mouth until after he’s finished with his lunch. He wants to hear him when he’s close, when he comes. He wants to know there are no distractions. Richie considers himself the only worthwhile distraction. So, he’s kind of waiting it out, working his way up and down Eddie’s cock with wet, spitty suction. 

Eddie stops frequently to curse a blue streak. 

“Fuck, motherfucker,” he says, and then takes another bite of his sandwich.

He doesn’t want to get crumbs and hot sauce in Richie’s hair. And he can’t just throw the sandwich on the floor — though he thinks about it. He can’t even set it down on the coffee table because Richie has him by the balls, literally. Eddie’s trapped in a very hedonistic scenario that he literally could not have imagined without Richie’s intervention — good food and good head at the same time. He vaguely thinks about Richie’s joke in February. Something about steak and blowjobs? He didn’t see the appeal, then.

He’s thinking about this mostly so he can just finish eating and not choke and die. 

He’s trying to think of anything beside the wet heat of Richie’s mouth latched onto his dick like he’s going to suck the secrets of comedy writing out of Eddie’s testicles.

Finally, Eddie shoves the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. He tosses the empty plate onto the couch to his left. He wipes his hands on the tails of his shirt and the leg of his shorts. Crumbs catch in his thigh hair. He’s going to have to shower and change his clothes. Hopefully it won’t be too obvious. He can wear the same tie, at least, because he threw that over his shoulder while he was making his sandwich.

Richie pulls his face off Eddie’s dick with a gasp. 

“Thank god!” he says, loudly. Spit drips down his chin and connects his lips to Eddie‘s cock in a glistening line. It’s obscene. 

“Don’t stop,” Eddie says. Whines, honestly. He’s whining.

Richie does not stop, but he also doesn’t put his head back on Eddie’s dick. Instead, he switches it up completely. His tight fist closes around Eddie’s saliva-slick hardon. He dips his head down to drag his tongue over Eddie’s balls. 

Eddie puts one hand in Richie’s hair and sinks the fingers of his other hand into the couch cushion. He almost shouts, “Fuck!”

Eddie says a lot of things, all of them very loudly, while Richie fists the head of his dick and takes one ball and then the other fully into his mouth. 

“Jesus fuck, Richie, what the fuck? How are you so good at this? Oh shit, that feels — fuck, Richie, that feels so good. Richie, Richie.”

It’s over quickly, once Richie decides he wants it to be. When he’s got all of Eddie’s attention and he can really show off.

Eddie pulls on Richie’s hair and says his name again and again in this urgent, desperate voice that makes Richie’s dick throb against the couch cushions. He comes all over Richie’s fingers and Richie drags his tongue up Eddie’s dick from the base until he meets his own hand. He sucks on the head of Eddie’s dick a little, through the last few drips and spasms of Eddie’s orgasm. 

Then Richie lays his head on Eddie’s thigh while he licks his fingers. He’s hot wings levels of thorough about it, too. Making sure that Eddie hears every slurp.

“Holy shit, Rich,” Eddie says, while Richie’s sucking on his own pinkie finger. “What was that about?” 

Richie shrugs. “You weren’t wearing underwear.” 

“It’s hot,” Eddie says. His face is so red it’s kind of magenta. 

“You’re hot,” Richie tells him.

“Do you wanna jerk off on my shorts or my feet?” Eddie asks. “Because I’m not moving for at least ten minutes.” 

“Aww,” Richie teases. “I can’t use your tie like a jizz sock?” 

Eddie just narrows his eyes at him very sharply, his eyebrows making very angry caterpillars — probably poisonous ones.

Richie chooses both. 

Eddie’s hair is wet during the two o’clock meeting. But he is still wearing the same tie.


End file.
